


Plastered

by Jay_eagle



Series: Moving In [9]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Broken Bones, Caring Douglas, Hurt Martin, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas' cockiness gets Martin into a pickle, and guilty comforting ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plastered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PGaddicted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PGaddicted/gifts).



“Martin, what are you doing?”

 

Martin’s head whipped round, guiltily. “Nothing,” he muttered, wincing as he took his hands out of the half-filled washing up bowl.

 

Douglas frowned as he strode over. “You’re supposed to be resting that arm,” he reminded his partner.

 

“I know, I _was_ at the hospital with you just an hour ago…” the captain muttered, stalking over to a kitchen chair and throwing himself into it. “Ow!” He had forgotten how tender his wrist was, even under the plaster cast.

 

Douglas flinched in sympathy. “Please - please be careful, love,” he chided, anxiously, flicking the kettle to boil before taking the chair next to Martin’s. He cradled Martin’s fractured wrist gently between his hands. “I’m so, so sorry…”

 

Sighing, Martin flexed the fingers of his good hand to cover Douglas’. “Stop apologising. I know you were only trying to help.”

 

Douglas grimaced. “I just was so sure that wardrobe would be easier to manage on its side, I was certain of it -”

 

“Shh,” Martin hushed him. “It might well have been... If you hadn’t simultaneously been ignoring my instruction to put it down because it was too heavy for me.” He tensed as tendrils of pain began to work their way up his arm again, like some horrible creeper suckering onto his bones as it grew. The painkillers they’d given him in A&E were evidently wearing off.

 

“I’m sorry…” Douglas’ eyes were utterly woebegone. “I never meant - god, you know I never meant -”

 

“- For a half-ton of antique armoire to squash my wrist?” Martin grumbled, but couldn’t be too venomous in the face of Douglas’ sincere regret and sorrow. “Forget it.” He rubbed futilely at the plaster cast, the ache distressing him more and more.

 

“Painkillers?” Douglas offered.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Douglas fetched the drugs they’d got from the hospital pharmacy and finished making them each a mug of tea. “I’ll tell Carolyn it’s all my fault,” the FO said, as Martin knocked back the codeine.

 

Martin groaned, his wrist giving a particularly painful throb, as if representative of their CEO’s coming wrath at being told her captain was out of commission for six full weeks. “She’ll be - well, livid is probably too mild a word for it.”

 

“My fault.” Douglas’ voice was quiet, and he stared deep into his mug of tea.

 

“Hey,” Martin soothed, “it’s alright. Really. I was so touched that you wanted to spend your day off helping me to shift that lady’s things. And at least she’ll still pay us for what we did get done, which is a minor miracle.”

 

“I suppose so.” Douglas pulled himself together, seeing Martin beginning to quiver lightly. “It’s really hurting you, isn’t it?”

 

“The - the drugs’ll kick in - soon,” Martin gritted out, trying not to tense his hand in response to the grinding ache. “It’s - fine - well, not it’s not, it bloody hurts, but - ow - it will be fine - ow, ow…”

 

“Oh, darling,” Douglas whispered, remorse still colouring his tones, “come here.” He wrapped Martin gently in his arms, pulling him into his chest - desperately careful with his arm.

 

Martin snuffled, trying to control the delayed shaking that was making him feel sick. Being enveloped in Douglas really helped - his partner the perfect distraction from the pain. He kissed his FO’s neck, softly. “That’s… nice…” he murmured.

 

“Good.” Douglas began humming quietly in his ear, a lullaby he sometimes sang to Emily, Martin realised. It was oddly soothing.

 

Gradually, the medication began to work, and Martin’s tension dissipated a little. He yawned into Douglas’ chest, the drugs making him dopey. “Time for bed?” Douglas asked, stroking his back. “While the pain’s less?”

 

“Mm-hm,” Martin murmured, and Douglas guided him to his feet and led him up the stairs, stripping him down to his boxers with a little difficulty; he had to guide the plaster cast through Martin’s pullover and it kept catching on the wool.

 

“Bedtime, love,” Douglas urged, seeing Martin swaying on his feet. He turned down the covers. “I’ll leave the pills and some water here on the side for you, alright?”

 

“K,” Martin mouthed, slipping towards slumber, his achy arm nearly forgotten. His last conscious thought was of Douglas’ hand in his hair, and his gentle lullaby in his ears.


End file.
